I had decided months ago that my upcoming novel would be my last. Twenty-six years writing long fiction and eleven novels published seemed quite enough. My thinking is less sharp. New ideas allude me. Crisp words don't come. Last month, though, I started playing with a short story to see if it could evolve into something longer. But I needed a brief set-up scene to launch the first chapter. I started working on that one scene, but it is evolving into a story of its own. Not sure where this bit of scribbling will take me.
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